Destin, Florida

Mike and I spent the better part of last week sinking our toes deep into white sandy beaches, trading in our business attire for swimwear and our Blackberries/iPhones for frozen margaritas. Our biggest decisions involved choosing the day’s activities – beach, jet ski, or boat? The too-crowded evening commute was replaced with leisurely dinners and drinks with my favorite aunt and uncle. I cannot imagine why neither Mike or I were ready to return to city life.

Preparing for Hurricane Irene

Okay folks. Let's everyone just take a deep breath and stop throwing this city into a panic. The first rain clouds have just started rolling over Manhattan, all the stores are closed, and our transportation system is completely shut-down. My sweet mother, bless her heart, tried to convince Mike and me to evacuate to southwestern Virginia. This is the same woman who outright refused to evacuate our below-sea level house on the coast of Virginia where I grew up for ANY hurricane. Exhibiting her same stubbornness, I was quick to remind her I live on the sixth floor of a pre-war brick building above sea level. And I happen to think we will be just fine.

Despite my confidence, the grocery store shelves have been barren of bread, water, flashlights, and batteries for days. The grocery order I expected to be delivered this morning was cancelled at the last minute last night. But it is okay. We have eighteen bottles of wine, six bottles of bourbon, and way too much of Mike's homebrew to count.

And since I haven't been able to buy bread for days, I woke up this morning and made up two loaves of my favorite homemade white bread. And, if do end up losing electricity and I can't make pancakes, I made a double-batch of my favorite granola, adding in some sweetened, shredded, coconut and pumpkin seeds.

Everyone stay safe. I'll see you on the other side of Irene. I need to go refill my wine glass.

Cape Cod: Dinner Party

Cape Cod: Shucking Oysters

Cape Cod Baseball League

One evening in Cape Cod, we drove to cheer on the Orleans Firebirds, a team part of the Cape Cod Baseball League. The crowds packed every green space and tailgate available. Parents seemed to be able to catch their breath as their children made new friends and proceeded to roll down the hill together, oblivious to dirt and grass stains. Little boys looked onto their future idols and mimicked their movements. Teenagers walked around in too-short shorts, holding their expensive phones, discussing the latest gossip. Older men sat in silence or compared current players to those they had watched in years past.

For one, cool evening, it was nice to remember that the overpaid major league baseball players we hold in such high regard began their careers on small baseball fields just like this one, void of any national advertisements or endorsements other than the local resident reading their name and the small roar from the crowd.